


Maru-Raba

by tanarill



Category: Taming of the Shrew - Shakespeare
Genre: Accents, Chess, Chickens, Demisexuality, F/M, Forgery, Honesty, Marriage, Philosophy, Plans For The Future, Secrets, Strong Female Characters, Wealth, Wits, bitch, crest - Freeform, family crest, knowledge, thieves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-10
Updated: 2008-07-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22207207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanarill/pseuds/tanarill
Summary: Shakespeare's actual play was funny, one supposes, to contemporary audiences; to modern audiences, it reads like a how-to of spousal abuse.So I wrote a different version.
Relationships: Katherine/Petruchio (Taming of the Shrew)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

The problem with Katharina, at least from everyone else's point of view, was that she was a mean-tempered, shrewish, cursed bitch.

The problem with the world, from Katharina's point of view, was that everyone else was so incredibly _stupid_.

"Katharina," gasped Bianca, scandalized, "You don't _want_ a husband?"

"Why would I want a man? They're stupid, beastly, guided by greed and fancy and flesh. And I'm smarter than any ten of them together. You know that."

Bianca sighed. "I know. You read and write and speak every language of Italy - "

" - not like _that_ was hard - "

" - and French _and_ Latin."

"I'm learning Greek."

"What? _Why_?"

"Because only half of father's philosophy books are in Latin."

Bianca stared at her. "And you think any man will want a woman who - "

"Is more intelligent than her?" interrupted Katharina. "Of course not. And I don't want any husband who can't keep up with me. I'd rather remain an old maid than shackle myself to someone I'd run circles around."

"But Katharina - !" began Bianca.

"If _you_ want a husband, _you_ can have one. I'll neither have nor want for one."

"Father said-"

"Father dotes." This was not a lie. Baptista doted on his sweet, womanly, younger daughter because he was frightened of his older one. "If you want a husband, you _will_ have one."

"What about you?" asked Bianca.

I've been running the business for four years, Katharina didn't say. I personally own four ships and whole warehouses full of goods. I can forge our father's signature better than he writes it. He stopped playing chess with me years ago because he always loses. There are two rich, reclusive old women who don't exist that I can become at two hour's notice. If father dies, I'd make sure no one noticed for weeks, and then I'd vanish.

Bianca would be horrified. Katharina said, "I'll manage."


	2. Chapter 2

Katharina pegged Petruchio for a fake two seconds after she met him. But he was a _good_ fake, since he obviously had real wealth backing him up.

He was also after her fortune - that was how she thought of it, now - in a very obvious way. It was refreshing for someone to be honest about the reason for courting the elder, painfully sharp-tongued sister, though.

And, as they went on, it was refreshing to be pushed anywhere near the limits of her wit. He neatly dodged her question about his ancestry, at any rate.

But claiming that he could tame her!

Claiming that she'd agreed to marry him!

And she would have protested Petruchio's lie, only . . .

Only he was a fake and pretenders to nobility had a lifespan better measured in days and weeks than months and years. Only she _could_ outsmart him, and he knew it, and she knew he knew it, and it was the first secret she'd shared with anyone since Bianca started being stupid. Only he had this smile that wasn't a smile and eyes that laughed at the whole world, especially the man she loved as father when he didn't catch the obvious clues.

And then he told her, and only her, that he was a thief as well.

Well, it _might_ be fun.

They played chess.

Katharina won the first game. And the second game, and the third game, and the fourth and fifth. He won the sixth.

"So, who are you really?" she asked as she knocked over her king for the first time in years.

"Why, Petruchio of Verona, of course."

"Your accent is Mantuan," he pointed out.

He didn't bat an eye, but then, he wouldn't. "Why, if I have recently arrived from a long residence in Mantua, then what of it?"

"Oh, nothing I suppose. I just thought you should know you're holding your O a little too long. And that you should shorten and sharpen your T," she said, in perfect Veronese. "And get a crest."

He was trying hard not to smile. "And what would my lady have on my crest?"

"Why, a cock of course. A new game?"

She won that one too.

Two days later, which was Thursday, they went riding. Petruchio rode a tough dun pony-tough because Katharina was riding Stallion, and only the tough ones could keep up when he was at a light trot.

Stallion was huge and gray and ugly, one of the last few real destriers and the prize of the Minola stables. Katharina was the only person who ever rode him, bad-tempered brute that he was. He couldn't be said to submit to her; they had, instead, reached an understanding some years back.

The ride was fairly placid, with Stallion chomping at his bit, until the party had ridden shortly outside the city walls. Then Katharina gave him his head and called back to Petruchio, laughing, "Catch me afore we reach the villa, and I may reward you," skirts billowing out behind her as she swung her leg over and hung on for the ride.

She was at the villa an hour before the rest of the party, drinking chilled fruit juices and reading the little notes in her daybook. Stallion was terrifying the stable hands.

"Dear lady," announced Petruchio, when he entered the room, "your servant is unworthy."

She looked up at him.

"And I would like to remark that you are the finest rider, on the finest horse, I have ever seen. Would you introduce us?"

"And have you steal the only man I have ever liked?"

"I am in competition with a horse!"

"No; you are far behind dear Stallion."

"Would that I were your stallion, and you my filly!"

"Would that you were an ass, and confined to work in the field."

"Work for your pleasure, aye; but a field is a cold mattress indeed."

"Hah!"

"And a comfortless one. I would fetch you fine silks from India, would it please you."

"It would please me if you _went_ to India."

"Only to return, I assure you. To but lavish you in silk and spice-"

Katharina realized, to her own surprise, that she was really enjoying herself.

"Oh, truly? And not to return a penniless beggar, having run coward from all the pagans of Araby?"

"Braved, my dear, and brave ten thousand more to return to your side."

"What about a journey to Mantua?"

"I am not so fond of that city as I may once have been, true, but only because dearest Kate is here."

"And also because, signor Petruchio, there is a price there on your head."

That stopped him, before he collected himself. "I rather think you overstate the case, my lady. A personal feud is no death warrant, signed and sealed."

"You were born," she turned a page in her daybook, "Juliano of Mantua. The circumstances around your rise to power involve a petty war, a certain dead man, a large sum of ducats, and a number of highwaymen." She turned another page. "And now you are looking to marry for a crest."

He was gaping now. "Rumors are very interesting things, don't you agree?" she asked, sweet as arsenic. "People stop spreading the tales but don't actually forget them, and a little coin can set happy tongues to wagging."

"My Lady-"

"Your liege, certainly."

"My Lady, I know not what to say, but this: what would your father think of your glassworks in Venice, did he know of them?"

Silence. Fell.

Their gazes remained locked like that for a while, Katharina looking at him over the cover of her daybook, horrified, and he standing and looking at her in something almost entirely devoid of joy. His smirk was gone, too.

Finally, Petruchio broke the hush. "We are neither one of us without our secrets," he said. "But here I make my true offer for you. I will mind to my friends in Verona and the dull affairs of men, and become very, very rich because there can be no wife can be so bold, so beautiful, nor so cunning as my Kate."

It was a tempting offer. It was a very tempting, very attractive offer, especially as it meant an audience to the times when she won a thousand ducats at a stroke. He would know, and unlike her father that feared her for it, he'd congratulate her for such a masterful ploy.

"And we will play chess," said Katharina.

"We will play to the falls of merchant kings and the rise of our riches. And chess, if you like." He was smiling now. "Please, Katharina."

She didn't have to accept it. She could easily have Petruchio hanged with what she knew.

"I'll be wed to Juliano of Mantua, soldier of no city and pretender to mean fortune, and that man only, come Sunday."

Katharina spent most of Friday at the tailor's. The dress was fine - she'd chosen this particular tailor because he could follow instructions and nearly always got it right the first time around - but while he had her measurements and a mannequin of her, there were finer adjustments to be made.

Saturday, Petruchio came by again, kissing her gently on the cheek.

"What, tired of your diversions?" she asked.

"Low, my love. Very low. There was a matter I would have brought to your consideration, but now it seems to have slipped my mind-"

"Petruchio."

"Now what was it?"

" _Juliano_."

"Ah, right. There is the matter of our departure from the feast."

"What of it?" asked Katharina.

"Well, it fully depends on your desires."

"Explain."

"Should you desire a mad feast to our mad fortune, and be borne to our nuptial rest by you father, and have that selfsame bed be in this very house - well, then all is well."

That was an aspect of the marriage that Katharina was not looking forward to at all. The whole wedding _crowd_ would see her to bed, and expect bloody sheets in the morning. She had a small bottle of chicken blood already prepared for the purpose, but avoiding the humiliation of the thing altogether . . . Still.

"Flee my wedding for your villa? Is it removed so far?"

"No, but I know a good inn on the road. The fare may not be quite so grand, but the company's better."

"What, rats and fleas?"

"Juliano's _mother_ ," said Petruchio sharply, and Katharina shut up. Her own mother had died shortly after Bianca's birth, and the closest thing she'd had to one after that was the woman who nursed her infant sibling. She knew for a fact that Juliano's father was dead, but it had never occurred to her that his _mother_ lived. And of course, she'd never be able to come to the wedding feast properly, because . . .

Because Juliano had to protect her, so _Petruchio_ 's mother was dead.

"Oh," she said, very quietly, and then more loudly, "And how shall we rid ourselves of your man Grumio?"

"That's what I meant to ask of you."

"Hmm. Well, how do you plan to leave straight from the wedding?"

"With you at my side?"

Katharina felt her lips twitch. "Yes. I mean, how shall we escape such a crowd?"

"By your temper," said Petruchio.

"By my - what?" gasped Katharina, insulted in that way that made her blood _sing_.

"We'll put on a kind of a . . . play," said Petruchio, slowly and contemplatively. "We are in accord, my Kate-we are in accord?"

Kate nodded, curious now. They'd have blazing rows nearly all the time, she thought dazedly, and it wouldn't matter because he understood that it was just fun.

"But we will not _seem_ it. It will not look unusual, in any case, because none expect us to be in accord. And so I will drag you from the wedding, you all protesting, as loud as you like, and leave them standing behind dumbfounded at my haste to get you hence."

"And then we ride for this inn of yours?"

"There is still the matter of Grumio."

Ah, thought Katherine. Grumio followed him, and still does, but there are some secrets Petruchio still keeps. "Mayhap some highwaymen will layway us and bear him off," said Kate out loud, not quite joking.

"They are no jest, merry Kate."

"What, are they so terrible?"

"Worse. Kate, I do not lie to you."

He wasn't. She could tell because when he was telling the truth, his ever-present half-smirk vanished. He looked better with it, too sober by half without. And, she thought, he would know.

"Then we'll just have to do without. Mayhap another play . . . "

"Should we spend our whole lives in plays, then?"

"It was your idea first," Katharina reminded him primly. "And this will be a good one. My dress shall spoiled."

"Is it a bad dress?" asked Petruchio, sounding actually curious.

"No, but if still exists they'll try to bury me in it."

"Ah. Your plan, Kate?"

She told him. It relied heavily on the fact that Stallion was Stallion, that Katharina was a better rider than Petruchio, and that Grumio knew his master well enough to know Petruchio could protect his wife without a second blade. After she'd finished explaining, Petruchio kissed her again and said, "Wonderful!" and clapped her on the back, exactly as if she were his partner in a particularly well-managed deception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week I was sick, so I slept through a bunch of it. I expect next week to be rougher, though.


	3. Chapter 3

Katharina waited in full wedding relgaia and tried not to think about what she'd do if Petruchio didn't show up. She actually liked him. He wasn't as smart as she was, but no one was; the point was he didn't try to curb it - was willing to use it to his advantage. Maybe she should not have set his challenge so high? But she'd made a promise to remain an old maid before wedding someone who couldn't match.

She'd gotten angry and made a speech and come inside; she had half been expecting him to carry her off on a horse, and she was determined to make it difficult for him.

What she did not expect was Petruchio - _Juliano_ \- to come dressed as himself and sweep her, in his madcap way, to the church for a real wedding. Well, as real as it can get when her groom kept swearing and acting like the man he no longer was and never for a moment letting her forgot that he was humiliating himself in front of the entire church because she'd asked him to.

She was fighting laughter at the end, right up until the part where the vicar said, "You may now kiss the bride," and he _did_ in a way that probably wasn't decent in public and when he pulled back he whispered in her ear, "Are you satisfied, my Kate?"

She smiled at him, which caused him to kiss her again.

The getting-out-of-the-wedding-feast ruse went off without a hitch. No one expected Petruchio to listen to reason, mad as he was, and no one expected Katharina to _want_ to leave her own wedding feast, and no one seemed to be paying the least bit of attention to the fact that Katharina had, actually, said "I do." Stupid, idiotic . . .

No one seemed to notice that Kate was riding Stallion, either. Of course, her father hadn't expressly _given_ him to her, but she'd written up her own dowry, and all things considered, the fact that the prize Minola stallion would no longer be living in the Minola stables was not a problem since he would still be the Minola stud. And Grumio was on this tiny mare. Petruchio's horse was with foal by Stallion.

This time, Katharina had to wait until they got to a point where the road was low and muddy before giving Stallion is own reign and letting the inevitable happen. She had the easy job, in any case: "fall" off Stallion when he suddenly lunched for Grumio's mare, sit in the mud for a while while Petruchio nearly took Grumio's ear off with cursing, and then suggest that the servant be sent on ahead to get the house ready.

And then sit there laughing until she cried once Grumio was out of sight and earshot. Petruchio joined her shortly thereafter. "Kate, dearest. I think we neglected a part of the plan. How are we supposed to get them apart?"

That set Kate off again. When she calmed down, she managed to gasp out, "She's not in _season_. She was earlier this year. And she's a sweet mare, but if my Stallion tries anything, he's sure to be bitten."

Petruchio appeared to think about this, and then said, "I'd really rather my mare not bite me."

That set Kate off again, until she gradually quieted under Petruchio's gaze. His half-smirk was still there, but there as something else, something indefinable, as well. "What?" she asked.

"I was just thinking that we really are married," he said quietly.

Katharina - stopped. It had been such a long, unusual day already and it probably wasn't more than half over. She hadn't been thinking about it. In fact, she realized with a start, she had been _avoiding_ thinking about it. "Yes," she said, catching his eye. "We're stuck with each other now. Help me up."

He did. Katharina knew that she was fairly shapely, as women went, but where Bianca ate like a bird, she - did not. And the entire dress was sopping went with mud, too. Petruchio exerted no visible effort in lifting her. Once she was standing, she started explaining how to get the thing off.

"What, here in this field?" asked Petruchio. "I didn't mean that literally."

Katharina shot him a glare over his shoulder. "I'm soaking wet and covered in mud, and there's a simple riding dress in your saddlebag. I planned ahead, you see."

Once she was in dry clothing and wearing boots, she she went and caught Stallion's bridle. Stallion stood stoically as she clambered on, and Petruchio packed the wet dress on the other mare. Once they'd tied a lead to her, they set off again.

It was nowhere near dark when they arrived at the inn, but they did have to give Grumio plenty of time to get home and spread wild tales before they arrived. It was dim and warm inside, full of activity. But the wenches all knew Petruchio's face, for all they called him Juliano, and sent him straight to he kitchen, trailing his bride.

The first time Katharina ever met her, Juliano's mother Franca had her arm in a goose that she was divesting of entrails. She didn't stop cooking during the entire conversation, either.

Of course, she was the cook for this big and busy inn a few hours' from the walls of Padua, so cooking was what she did. Judging by the aromas, she did it quite well, everything from baking to butchering in the long, low kitchen.

"Mother," said Petruchio, smiling as he approached her, "I kept my promise and married the most impossible woman in Christendom."

"I am not!" gasped Katharina, and then realized that she had just said that to her mother-in-law.

Petruchio laughed, and reached out with a lazy arm to draw her close. "Yes you are," he kissed her on the nose, "and I wouldn't have you any other way. Mother, this is Katharina, daughter of Baptista Minola. Kate, this is my mother." He said this with such pride in her and quiet reverence for his mother that Katharina automatically dropped a curtsy.

The woman, who had finished emptying entrails into a bucket, asked, "That Katharina they call the Shrew?" She looked thoughtful, and then added, "I don't see it. You're too smart to have married my boy without knowing what he is, and he's too smart to marry anyone really and truly a shrew. So let's have it."

"Have what?" asked Katharina, taken aback.

"Have your story, of course," replied the Franca. "Have you ever shelled peas? No, nevermind, a noblewoman like yourself wouldn't have. Still, there's first time for everything, and I'll have no idle hands in this kitchen. Pull up a stool. Juliano, go find some meat rolls."

Katharina, for perhaps the first time in her life, did as she was told. It was hard not to, with this tiny, tough old lady, who just happened to be holding a _very sharp_ knife and carving up a chicken, ordering her around.

It took her about the same time it took Juliano to go find a plain wooden plate and fill it with food for her to learn how to shell peas. And then he sat down and started to work with her, as they told her about Petruchio's courtship and their wedding. He kept handing her bits of food and telling her to eat. Her eyes widened at the first bite; simple fare, true, but tastier than half the food at her own father's table. Franca proved to be a good audience, too, laughing at the right times, asking the right questions, and periodically taking over and telling Katharina stories about Juliano's reckless youth. All the while, she shelled peas.

At about the time Katharina was staring to feel full, Franca asked them both, "How do you plan to go about your play?" And, to their looks, "Look, your Kate cannot merely and suddenly submit to you, who has never submitted even to her own father. You're going to have to make a show of that, too."

Petruchio began with, "What?"

At the same time, Katharina sighed, "I know."

"You do?" asked Petruchio.

"I do. After you made such a big announcement of taming me, you're going to have to do it. Although not," she added, to make sure it was understood, "for sooth."

"Oh," said Petruchio, while Katherina sighed again and Franca rolled her eyes.

"Well, children," said Franca, "I've a plan. It was story my grandmother told me when I was little. Maybe you can use it now."

She told them. They listened. They talked it over between the three of them, unraveling the knots and planning for contingencies, and then when the whole plan was just about plotted - Katherina especially liked the public kiss right in front of her father's home - Franca advised them that they ought to head home before it got too much on toward sunset. Petruchio went off to get the horses.

"It's good that he found you," said Franca, looking up at her daughter-in-law. "He needs a strong-minded woman to curb his recklessness. He's a good boy, you understand. Just reckless. Not as wise as one might wish, and a little to endeared of that Petruchio name. Still, he saw to it, after it all happened, that I got a good job working here, as a freewoman with no stink of nobility. Yourself excepted, of course," she added, remembering who Katharina was.

"I - what exactly did happen?" asked Katharina. "I know in general, but not - "

"Ask him yourself," said Franca, and then more softly, "It's not really my secret to tell."

"You love him very much," said Katharina.

"I'm his mother. Of course I love him. Kate, take _care_ of him."

Katharina felt, for a moment, the depth of a mother's love, which was something that picked her up and bowled her over and drowned her completely. Then she said, quite firmly, "I will."

Franca gave her a hug and a kiss on both cheeks and the same for her son, and sent them off with a packet full of her food.

And then they left, riding on toward home while the shadows lengthened and deepened. Katherina reached up to the tingle on her cheeks where Franca had kissed her and thought about what it meant to be a shrew and how tough a woman would have to be to raise a Juliano, much less a Petruchio. She cried a little because she had been lucky enough to find a mother who wouldn't have to be worthy of her; who _she_ would have to work of to be worthy of. And then she dried her tears and smiled at her husband.

If he had noticed, he didn't say anything, but he did smile back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week, I expected my paper to be rejected. Instead, it was accepted, so now I'm Very Busy. But it is good busy, for once.
> 
> ETA: The contents of the last two chapters have changed, so this isn't the same Chapter 3 as previously. Be warned. Also, in this new and wonderful week, I may have finally, actually succeeded in publishing a paper. \o/


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petruchio, for all he's a bastard, does have certain expectations with regards to the sanctity of the marriage bed.

Petruchio's villa was not one of the grand new villas that, for example, the ducal families had started building recently. It was large, but not very tall, instead being a two-story building with six wings, surrounding two courtyards. The first courtyard was an open U-shape, and the wing on the right as one rode in was entirely composed of stables. The wing on the left looked, to Katharina's practiced eye, to contain its own brewery, winery, dairy, and probably other such necessities with would be impossible in the city but practical in the country.

The rest of the house was build in the Roman style, open-air galleries surrounding an enclosed courtyard. One had to walk outdoors to move from room to room. The side of the building closest to the entrance was mostly vaulted atrium and variously sized storage and sitting rooms. The ground floor of the wing closer to the dairy contained such necessities as a kitchen and scullery, plus additional storage. The other two ground-level floors were bedrooms, outrageously sized by city standards but comfortable by those of the country. The upper level, with its covered galleries, contained more rooms, and evidenced by the many, evenly spaced doors.

All this Katharina observed while Petruchio ranted and made outrageous demands of his staff, who looked on more in amusement than fear. She only saw that Stallion was put in one of the best stable boxes and that the hand knew how to rub down a tired horse, and also that this house certainly needed a woman. There seemed to be no end to manservants, but no maids at all.

She spent most of the ensuing storm holding back her laughter. The oddest thing, though, was that none of the servants seemed to care about sparing her gentle disposition. Of course, they'd - probably - never seen a gentlewoman before and didn't know ho to act. This was good thing, as she wouldn't have to retrain them how to act with regards to her. And she learned some interesting cursing, when the men around her either didn't know or didn't care to censor their speech.

Katharina managed to contain her mirth until they made it to the bright, airy room on the second floor that Petruchio owned to. Quietly, so as not to be heard over Petruchio's lecture, she asked, "Where is my bedchamber?"

Petruchio immediately went off on to another ramble about how a dutiful wife slept by her husband's side, and that he would therefore see her sleep in no bed but his own, and . . .

"All the _time_?" she asked, incredulous. Her mother's old room, now Bianca's, had been _close_ to her father's certainly. But not the _same_.

Petruchio, who was by now having trouble keeping a straight face, started talking about the duty of good wives to be obedient and faithful to their husbands in all things, and if he wanted her in his bed every night, why shouldn't he and that was about the time Katharina kissed him.

She really hadn't thought about the mistress Petruchio was undoubtedly hiding somewhere on this estate, except with a sort of resignedness. Only it appeared that he didn't have one, and if he planned to sleep in the same chamber as she _every single night_ , much less the same bed . . . Katharina kissed him again.

"Help me get out of this, or I'll catch a chill," she said, referring to the muddy, still-wet dress she had changed back into at the boundary of the estate.

"I would certainly hate it if my Kate were to fall ill so soon. 'Twould be a poor omen."

"And," said Kate, "then you can warm me up."

Petruchio shut up and did as he was told.

Katharina woke up the next morning feeling pleasantly exhausted, which had previously been an oxymoron to her. Petruchio was giving another speech. That was the worst part of the Plan, although Petruchio had insisted that he could keep going with little to no sleep for several days, and so certainly one night was not an issue. She hadn't found it difficult to get to sleep like that, though. Something in her found it . . . soothing.

They breakfasted on cold rolls from Petruchio's saddlebag, and then played chess. Katharina won, but thought it hardly fair as Petruchio had been up all night. Then Petruchio suggested that he give her a full tour in the light of day.

The villa, as it turned out, had a fine old history, having been built sometime during the Crusades as a hospice to pilgrims. Several local noble families and the Church had supported it, but as the Crusades dragged on, support dwindled. Finally, one of the original families had outright bought the place and converted it into a manor home. It had changed hands several times in the ensuing centuries, but it had been in decline when Petruchio bought it. "And it still is," he added. "I really need someone who knows how to manage a house and the attached farms. Isn't it lucky you're here now?"

"I'll need to see the accounts," she said, primly.

"By all means, dear Kate," he said, and led her to another room, which had a very heavy and new-looking lock. She'd bet it was the kind that was really hard to pick, too. Entering the room, Katharina stopped and stared; it had to be the single largest library she'd ever seen. Of course, most of the books turned out to be the old villa records, but even so, there were several shelves of useful books that she's never seen before. And two very remarkable books.

"What are these?" she asked, showing them to Petruchio.

"That's the Bible," said Petruchio, "and that's a book of philosophy."

"One, you don't know Latin, how could you possibly know that, and two, I _meant_ that I have never seen this kind of book before. How was it made?"

"Ah," said Petruchio. "Those are some books created by printing press. I made an investment in a certain group some years back, and it has been profitable."

Katharina had, of course, heard of the these printing press things, but hearing it was entirely different from seeing rows and rows of neat, perfectly formed little letters. She stared at the books for a moment, and then looked at her husband. "I own a Venetian glassworks, you own a printing press. What we will _do_ together."

Petruchio kissed her again.

That afternoon, he took her for a ride around the villa farm. Most of the farm was vineyards, acres and acres of them. The rest of the fields were used for necessary crops such as wheat and barely. Katharina had seen only modest wine presses at the villa, so she had to wonder where all that wine was being made-and where the profit was going. The account books had simply stopped when Petruchio purchased the farm, but the yards were obviously well-tended. In short, the farmland was not in decline; the villa was.

She didn't have any problem seeing the problems, either. Well, mostly one problem: Petruchio's men were all very well and good, but not a one of them was a farmer. She'd been introduced to them. They were basically seven more Grumios, which was to say, seven more dangerous men who knew how to fight even without the stilettos they carried. She was very happy they followed Petruchio, although they were a bit wary of her. Not quite sure how to treat the famed shrew, although at least when she yelled at _them_ , they argued their causes.

In short, thought Katharina as she changed into her night shift and climbed into bed next to Petruchio, a generally productive day. It would take some time for her to set the farm to rights, and she was looking forward to it. Certainly more than she was looking to returning to the city in a few days to prove just how "tame" she was.

Petruchio interrupted her thoughts by kissing her behind her ear, and whispering, "Is my Kate cold again tonight?"

Kate laughed, and turned over to meet him kiss for kiss.

The next day was, in many ways, the most trying. They both gotten some sleep, but one of them had to always be on guard that Petruchio was lecturing at Katharina whenever anyone else was around, and Petruchio's men could move very quietly indeed. Still, they had neither one had _enough_ sleep and Katharina had no trouble feigning exhaustion.

Also, as she had not by that morning eaten more than a few cold meat rolls in the last twenty-four hours, she was ravenous. As Franca had pointed out, though, going hungry a day wouldn't kill her and the best lie is one backed by truth. So, pretending to escape a Petruchio who'd finally "dozed off," she stumbled down to the kitchen for some food.

Grumio played what he probably thought was cruel trick on her, and Katharina thought to herself, he's easily amused, even as she hit him the way a shrew would. Hitting his face was like hitting a brick wall.

Her hand still hurt when Petruchio walked in, carrying with him a tray. She nearly laughed and ruined the whole thing when she saw the porridge-like glop it contained. Whatever Petruchio was, he was nothing like his mother when it came to culinary arts. Still, after he'd "forced" a thanks out of her, she dug in and found that he could throw together an edible stew. Hortensio, who had probably come to see how the new couple was doing, undoubtedly thought that he was lying about having cooked it himself, but ate it readily enough even so.

Once she was done, it was time for the entire farce with the gown, only -

Well, the cap was fine, even if the stitching could have been done better. She'd have to get in to Verona soon and go shopping for a new tailor. Petruchio's was fine for the interim, she thought, placing the cap on her head.

But the gown! She had absolutely no doubt that Petruchio thought it was good. It was made of rich velvet, shot through with purple, stitched with gold threads and sewn with little pearls. It would certainly fit her with a little extra fitting. It was heinously expensive, and even among her father's crowd that might have been enough. With Katharina, there was _nothing_ to excuse the dress, ever because for all the wealth, it had this problem:

It was in the _worst_ taste she'd ever seen.

And she didn't doubt that there were tailors who could make the same combination of materials, in the same proportions, something pleasing to the eye, either. She'd gone through half the tailors in Padua before finding one who could match her demands, but even Bianca had admitted that she'd never give her patronage to another. _Definitely_ going to Verona soon. And explaining to Petruchio that "rich" and "tasteful" were two very different but not necessarily mutually exclusive things.

Petruchio was going on about how the dress was entirely unsuitable for her. She agreed entirely, and had to pretend she didn't. Someone, she thought nastily, someone that she didn't like, was going to be gifted with a very fine and entirely garish dress in the near future.

Grumio was going through how the dress had been ordered. The tailor was claiming innocence of the awfulness of the thing. Privately, Katharina decided that if they had been in competition to make an ugly gown, they could have done no better than this.

Right about the time Katharina was deciding this, Grumio redeemed himself by making a fool of Petruchio. Not the gown for him, indeed! And, when she looked at Petruchio, his eyes had crinkled up in that way they did when he was couldn't show that he was smiling. Hortensio was trying not to laugh. And then, so quickly that she might have missed it, Hortensio was the one who was suddenly to pay for the thing. _That_ 's why he keeps Grumio around, she thought. People are stupid when they're laughing, and he's good at making people laugh.

The funny thing was, though no one noticed, that it was closer to noon than two _or_ seven when they started arguing about the time. Or at least, Hortensio didn't notice. Petruchio's men almost certainly knew how to tell time without a clock-tower, and while Katharina relied on the bells for her hours, she knew exactly how far or near the next bell was. For a moment, she experienced the feeling that Petruchio's men were in on it, or at least in on _something_ that involved laughing at Hortensio. Then it passed, and Petruchio was dragging her off to give Hortensio the full tour.

It was, actually, ten the next morning by the time they set out, although Katharina agreed that it was seven in the morning. Petruchio's men snickered, but instead of anger, which was her usual response to being laughed at, she found herself smiling as they set off.  
  
It was between a four and six-hour ride at a walk, which was why leaving after around two made little sense and leaving around midmorning, so as to leave allowances for the unexpected was better. Their party was small, only the four of them. Katharina had hoped to have a chance to talk with Petruchio on the ride, but as fate had it, this was not to be.  
  
They did the entire play of sun or moon. Katharina thought a play done for two people for the benefit of only two others was a kind of pointless, but neither Grumio nor Hortensio could possibly have been left behind. So she played out her acceptance that Petruchio's madness was hers as well, and Hortensio - well, Hortensio was a silly old man. But she winked at him, and so he understood that her capitulation was one in humor of her mad husband and not because she actually thought the sun was the moon. He didn't understand at all that neither did Petruchio.  
  
She thought that Grumio might be warming up to her, the way he rolled his eyes.  
  
And then Petruchio. Well, he didn't wink at her, when they met the wealthy gentleman where the road from Bologna met their path. But he smiled with his eyes and then started calling the man a woman and had her kiss him too. This was not in the Plan. But.  
  
People were stupid when they were laughing, and by the end both Hortensio was laughing again and the man who, actually, turned out to be her father-in-law believed Petruchio to be not entirely sane and seemed to pity her for being wedded to him. He'd help her if there were ever a great need for someone to "save" her from Petruchio's whim.  
  
She was not happy to hear about Bianca, though. Two days, and Bianca had run off with that Lucentio! Although, given Vincentio's apparent wealth, it could not be too poor a match. Still. She'd had really planned to make sure that whoever Bianca married was a _good_ match and not just not a poor one. When they got to Padua, she'd have to have a talk with Bianca about common sense, since apparently her sister didn't have any.  
  
Vincentio was a good sound, though. She asked him about his son and his properties as they went, and revised her impression of Lucentio as they went. Bianca might have a meaner dowery, but she definitely had the richer husband. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the contents of chapters II and III have changed, because I forgot how I'd written this. If you are confused, there might very well be a bit you've missed! Likewise, next week this chapter might just get bigger, instead of this thing getting a new chapter.
> 
> This week I applied to jobs and banged my head a lot on the molecular modelling software Rosetta. Rosetta is too big to fit on, or run, on my puny little computer. :<
> 
> ETA: This week and then next week, and then I'll be done with this chapter. I wrote it to correspond roughly with the play's acts.
> 
> In other news, my paper has finally been published. \o/
> 
> ETA2: Electric Boogaloo: Okay, done with this chapter. This week I applied to Many Jobs, and then MW said "follow up" so I've been doing that. In terms of employers actually looking at my resume it appears to be working, but whether that will translate into a job . . . ?


	5. Chapter 5

V.

The thing about watching people be stupid about her sister was that it had given Katharina a keen appreciation for her decision not to be married. Only now she was, and people were still causing trouble over Bianca. At least no one had ever _killed_ for her.

Although she nearly lost control over her laughter when Petruchio declared it was knavery to take another's name.

She watched the confusion with growing amusement. Vincentio, the one they'd met, was obviously the real one, but the man she'd met as Lucentio _wasn't_. The real Lucentio was the philosophy teacher, whom she'd bested in one debate and not wasted further time on. But if Bianca wanted someone to tell her sweet nothings and buy her nice things, she'd certainly found one.

Of course, no one noticed when Petruchio took her aside to kiss her. No one really noticed how much Katharina, at that moment, wanted to stubbornly refuse his kiss and go _home_. Except . . . Petruchio did, kissing her long and soft and sweet and, when he pulled back enough to speak, called her Kate and promised they'd leave as soon as this whole stupid charade was over.

Because then, the real fun could begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And everyone ends up with the spouse of their choice.
> 
> This week the following-up bore fruit, in that I did a couple of over-the-phone interviews. I will keep going with this strategy. Also this week, but in science, it is possible that solar storms cause magnetic interference, which interferes with whale's navigtion, which causes them to get confused about where they are and accidentally beach themselves. This is obviously bad, but it also means that we can plan ahead to have Volunteer Beech Watches (possibly by satellite, or maybe drone) on days with solar storms, so we can find more whales before they die and unbeach them. Isn't SCIENCE!! neat?


End file.
